


Good Enough

by Chantress



Series: And Yet Here We Are [11]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: (Not on-screen but we all know what the deal is amirite), Aftercare, Background Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer, F/M, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Deserves Nice Things, Mentioned Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Praise Kink, Sub Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Pegs, dom/sub elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:00:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28770486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chantress/pseuds/Chantress
Summary: The morning after is always hard, but maybe it doesn't have to be.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: And Yet Here We Are [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1614133
Comments: 10
Kudos: 45





	Good Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired in equal parts by [this kink meme prompt](https://witcherkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/429.html?thread=544429#cmt544429) and Joey's Great Witcher Bake Off, because I have no shame. 😎

A loud clanging from downstairs brings Geralt instantly awake, senses attuned to the source of potential danger. A muffled profanity a moment later relaxes him again; it's no threat, just Jaskier being Jaskier.  
  
Geralt sighs and stretches, cataloging the various aches lingering from the night before. Yennefer hadn't been gentle, and he hadn't wanted her to be; he'd cursed and snarled as she took him, fighting her for every inch of control that he would normally hand over to her without a murmur of complaint.  
  
It's like that sometimes; when a hunt has been particularly brutal, when people accuse him of worse depravities than the monsters he slays for them, when all his words get trapped in his throat until they feel thick enough to choke off his air, he _needs_ something like this. To be slapped down and manhandled back into his skin again, like he's an ungainly lump of bread dough that has to be kneaded for hours to get it to the proper consistency.  
  
And it helps, except for all the ways it doesn't. He always sleeps afterwards, deep and long, but then when he wakes... It's almost like being hung over, except the ache is in his heart, not his head, and there's no old wives' cure for it that he's ever heard of.  
  
"If you're quite done feeling sorry for yourself," Yennefer says, cutting through these maudlin thoughts, "why don't you come over here and say good morning? ...Although it's very nearly afternoon, as it happens."  
  
Geralt sits up and peers over at where Yen's sitting in front of her vanity. She's immaculate and untouchable in black silk, her hair half caught up in jeweled pins, the rest falling free around her shoulders. She raises one eyebrow at him, a smile hovering on her exquisitely painted lips as she crooks a finger in a beckoning gesture.  
  
Geralt's brain tries to reconcile the vision before him with the woman from last night, who'd spread him out on the bed and _used_ him, made him beg, made him sob, made him scream his throat raw with pleasure and pain both. It's difficult, to say the least.  
  
He stumbles over, his usual coordination still missing. Yen's still smiling, a little more softly now as she smooths her hand over a bruise that's somehow managed to linger on Geralt's flank.  
  
"Well now," she says. "That was different, wasn't it?"  
  
Geralt nods, not sure how to respond. He's not sure what to do with his hands either; clasping them behind his back feels too... military for a conversation with his lover, and he _refuses_ to cup them over his genitals like a child being scolded. He settles for letting them hang at his sides, fingers twitching slightly with nerves.  
  
"Have you ever done anything like that before?" Yennefer continues, still stroking his side.  
  
Geralt nods again. "Sometimes... in the winter," he says. His voice is rougher than usual, the words coming out reluctantly. "If it's been a bad year, Eskel will... he can tell, when I need it."  
  
He doesn't mention how different being restrained with magic is from being held down by his brother, the thrill he always feels at giving himself over to someone every bit as physically dangerous as he himself is. No doubt Yennefer can read it from his mind if she cares to; Geralt won't speak aloud more than he must when it comes to what he shares with Eskel.  
  
"And was last night what you needed?" Yen asks, her hand finally stilling and drawing away. Geralt forces himself not to mourn the loss.  
  
He shrugs. "It was... enough, I suppose," he says. "Different, like you said. But it... helped." He smiles a little, even though it feels like his face might crack with it.  
  
Yennefer's eyes hold nothing but tenderness as she reaches out again, this time to grasp Geralt's hand in both of her own. He doesn't realize he'd clenched it into a fist until she soothes it open, tracing her fingers over his knuckles to coax away the tension.  
  
"Your mouth says one thing, but your body says another," Yen murmurs. "I gave you what you needed last night; won't you let me give you what you need this morning?"  
  
Geralt isn't sure what to call the sound he makes; it tears out of him raggedly as he sinks to his knees on the floor in front of her, all his longing distilled into a low keening cry that's only half muffled by Yennefer's skirts as he wraps his arms around her legs and just _clings_.  
  
"There you are," Yen whispers, running her fingers through his hair. "There's my good boy."  
  
Geralt groans at that; of all the fucking things, she's talking to him like he's a child, or a prized racehorse. It should be humiliating, and it _is_ , but there's an odd squirmy warmth building behind his breastbone too, slowly spreading out through his entire body as Yen keeps telling him how _strong_ and _brave_ and _good_ he is, how proud she is of him, how beautiful he was last night when he finally gave himself over to her completely. And all the while, she keeps stroking his hair so gently that Geralt wants to weep. (Maybe he does, just a little.)  
  
Finally, the last of the tension he was holding onto drains out of Geralt with a shudder, and he just _exists_ there, head in Yen's lap, basking in her touch and her scent and the soft murmur of her voice, the dark fabric of her skirt a shield between him and the rest of the world.  
  
Another clatter from downstairs, followed by a yell of "Fucking _cock--!_ " brings him reluctantly back to himself.  
  
"Please tell me you didn't let Jaskier loose in the kitchen by himself again," Geralt says, lifting his head a little to peer up at Yen.  
  
"He volunteered to fix breakfast," Yen says primly. Geralt doesn't miss the mischievous twinkle in her eyes, though. "And I do like him to feel he's being helpful."  
  
Geralt groans and thunks his head back down onto her thigh. "Just don't expect me to eat whatever concoction he comes up with this time," he says. "Or clean up after him, for that matter."  
  
Yennefer hums and scritches her fingers through his hair again. "No, not today," she agrees. Her voice is warm with amusement and affection both. "Today, you just get to be my good, sweet boy."  
  
Geralt groans again, but it's a softer sound this time, almost a sigh as he eases back into that gentle, warm, _safe_ place she's made for him. No one's ever accused him of being good before, but maybe, for Yennefer, he can be good enough.


End file.
